


Hermione Can't Draw (But Draco Can)

by moosewingz



Category: A Very Potter Musical
Genre: F/M, References to the musicals and the movies and the books, Silliness galore, Wizard Cops, with added ballet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-03
Updated: 2011-11-03
Packaged: 2017-10-25 16:20:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moosewingz/pseuds/moosewingz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Wizard Cops' Top Super-Secret Detective Hermione Granger is having problems with her case. Can Draco help out? And will this give him the chance at romance he's been waiting for all these years?</p><p>Beware, ridiculous silliness lies within!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hermione Can't Draw (But Draco Can)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brokenglass16](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=brokenglass16).



> Written as my half of a fic trade with my very good friend [brokenglass16](http://brokenglass16.deviantart.com/) \- she requested something AVPM-based with Draco/Hermione. I don't ship them at all, but LOOK WHAT HAPPENED.
> 
> She did me a [Voldemort/Quirrell one](http://brokenglass16.deviantart.com/art/Different-QxV-AVPM-194145592), and it's adorable!
> 
> Cross-posted to my deviantArt. All comments, including concrit, are much appreciated!

Sometimes Draco wondered what life would have been like if he’d stayed in the Forbidden Forest with Luna and the centaurs: could he have become as good a dancer as Bane had been (when it wasn’t that time of the month – when Saturn aligned with Jupiter – which always made him abnormally grouchy), or perhaps he could have helped Luna found that Nargle sanctuary?

But no, it was not to be, he knew. He had told his father that he would join the Wizard Cops, and so, after several happy years in the Forest, he had left. To be honest, the parting had been made easier by the fact that he kept running into a rumpled-looking Umbridge – the thought of what had caused the rumpling inevitably made him feel quite ill.

And so he had signed up with the Wizard Cops.

Most of the time it wasn’t the glamorous and glory-filled life he’d imagined, although it did have its moments. Just last week Draco had personally led a broomstick chase, hot on the heels of one of the remaining Death Eater splinter groups, and although the villains had got away somewhere over Wolverhampton, the most important thing was that he and the team had all had a lot of fun. Oh, how they had laughed with him in celebration! Draco rather felt that throwing him in the lake had been a bit excessive (especially since it had made him late meeting Goyle for tea) but who was he to deny his colleagues their natural exuberance?

But the rest of the hours he clocked – like now – were filled mostly with training duty and paperwork, which meant spending a lot of time either with new recruits or his desk. Neither provided the most inspiring of work environments. In fact, this current class was starting to make Draco sympathise with his father – it wasn’t hard to understand his frustration at Draco’s own slow blooming when not one of the twenty-three teenagers, fresh from Hogwarts, could keep their toes pointed while demonstrating a simple sauté.

Honestly, how were they ever supposed to bedazzle the Death Eaters into stunned immobility (thus rendering them more susceptible to disarming and capture) if they couldn’t even get the basic steps?

Forty minutes later he was finally able to free himself of the newest so-called ‘dance troupe’ and was heading up to the offices for the Senior Wizard Cops, intending to grab a cup of coffee – three sugars, two teaspoons of cream, and with those little chocolate sprinkles that Mummy used to give him on his birthday – before being thrown headlong into an afternoon of reading reports and signing requisitions while secretly filling out the compatibility quizzes in Witch Weekly. But just as he left the elevator turned the corner, eyes on the files in his hands rather than on where he was going, he walked straight into someone and the air was immediately filled with fluttering sheets of parchment and those annoying pink memo cards that had an irritating tendency to spread horrific rumours about you if you ignored them for too long.

“Oh, look where you’re-” Draco began, flinging his hand dramatically to the side as he stuck his nose in the air haughtily.

Then he stopped mid-sentence. He’d bumped into none other than Hermione Granger, Top Super-Secret Detective in the Wizard Cops. She was hardly ever in the office, since if she wasn’t hunting down evil-doers she was usually in a library or visiting Potter or Weasley. Her hopelessly bushy hair was as untamed as ever, and she was wearing a rather dire floral jumper and a shapeless grey skirt that stretched unattractively as she bent down to pick up the no doubt Super-Secret files she had been carrying. Finnigan had been right, her thighs _had_ got dumpier since school.

Draco’s heart seemed to stop for a moment, before restarting at twice its normal speed.

If Draco hadn’t been part house-elf, the mental images prompted by having the hottest girl he’d ever seen kneeling in front of him might have posed a more noticeable problem. But, noticeable or not, it was rather uncomfortable.

He stepped back and cleared his throat.

“Ah, Granger, yes, well, sorry about that.”

Hermione looked up at him – _oh, be still, my heart (and other areas)_ – and smiled. Lines of stress were drawn tight around her mouth and the corners of her eyes, and when she replied with a brief “Oh, don’t worry about it, Malfoy,” her tone was clearly distracted. 

Wondering quite how he could draw out this conversation longer, mainly to bask in Granger’s presence, Draco knelt down to help. Unable to think of any small talk that didn’t make him sound like a creepy stalker, he just started piling sheets and folders into Hermione’s arms, occasionally bumping their hands together, making him want to sigh like a thirteen-year-old girl.

No, this wasn’t awkward at all.

Amazingly, it was Hermione who broke the silence.

“You just had dance class, didn’t you? How’re they coming along? Dean was complaining yesterday that their hip-hop routines had no rhythm at all.”

Draco snorted. Hip-hop wasn’t dance – where was the grace, the elegance? But he kept his thoughts to himself.

“Apparently not one of them has the ability to hold a pose for more than two seconds, and asking them to keep their posture while moving? You may as well have asked Dumbledore to give up Zefron!”

Hermione smiled warmly at him.

Draco tried not to swoon. Or roll under the nearest table. He’d mostly got over that habit after a few months in the forest – pine needles and animal droppings were a pretty good deterrent – but sometimes he had to remind himself of the clause against it Potter had put into his contract when he’d hired him (something to do with turning him into a ferret if he couldn’t stay on his own two feet like a normal person).

“The Malfoys have always been the best dancers in the Wizarding world, Draco – it was a terrible loss to the Ministry when your father decided to pursue a career for the ‘Other Side’, as it were. If anyone can train them up, it’s you. It’s in your blood.”

Aww, she looked so earnest.

But Draco waved her off with an imperious hand before he gave into the urge to hug her. Of course he’d succeed, but it didn’t mean he had to like it. Or be complimentary about the trainees. It would damage his reputation.

Hoping to keep her talking long enough to be able to work in an invitation to the House Elf Rights and Politics Evening Shindig (HERPES for short), he quickly moved on.

“How’s the case going? I heard you had a good lead.”

Hermione nodded, but at the same time sighed massively, her expression one of deep woe. Puzzled, Draco just cocked a perfectly plucked eyebrow in the time-honoured Malfoy way.

“It’s just this lead,” she explained, shrugging as she stood up. This time it was Draco looking up at her from his crouch on the floor. “I’ve been given a description, but so far we’ve missed them at least twice – apparently it takes far too long to work out whether people are tall, skinny and blonde. I’m on my way to the Wizard Cop Artists right now, but apparently they’re being kept busy putting together a photo and portrait montage for the people we’ve got trying to find Quirrell and Voldemort. But hopefully by the end of this week we’ll have a picture I can pass round to all my agents, so they should be able to recognise those kidnappers easily – we’ll get the Scarf of Sexual Preference back in no time.”

The last bit was clearly tagged on the end, filled with a sense of certainty that Hermione clearly didn’t feel.

Hmm.

Draco could feel it coming – that knowledge, creeping up his spine, that he was about to do something incredibly out of character that he wouldn’t even consider if it was Hermione who was standing in front of him, looking so worn and worried. You know, this falling in love thing was not only really inconvenient; it was also quite possibly dangerous.

“Erm, Granger, I could- I mean, do you want me to do the drawing for you? If the Wizard Cop Artists are busy, and we all know you can’t draw-”

“Yes, thank you for that reminder, Draco,” snapped Hermione, eyes going icy. Apparently the memory of collective bullying wasn’t one of her favourites.

Scrambling to rescue the situation, Draco grabbed Hermione’s arm as she turned. Later, he’d probably swoon.

“No, I just meant that surely you’ve so much more important things to do, you couldn’t possibly spare your time to draw a picture of some criminal!”

Oh yes. He was smooth.

Hermione still looked doubtful though. “I don’t know, Draco-”

“Oh, come on, Granger – you’re not alone, you know, you’re allowed to ask for help.”

Sighing, she nodded and handed over a slip of parchment covered in her neat notes. Just managing to refrain from smelling it to get that hint of Hermione’s own personal scent, Draco smiled winningly and tucked it into his files.

A few minutes later, Draco was sitting at his desk, reading through the notes Hermione had given him. It seemed pretty simple, so it only took him an hour or so to put together an approximate picture of the villain who’d kidnapped the Scarf of Sexual Preference from the shelf in Dumbledore’s former office that it shared with the Sorting Hat.

Yes, there he was, see, and there behind him were Hermione, Ron and Harry (no doubt Hermione would appreciate the inclusion of her best friends) saying “Stop right there, ruffian!” and then there in the other corner (providing balance to the composition, of course) was Draco himself – and just to finish it off, Draco gave himself a speech bubble saying “My drawing caught you, you know”.

Draco was quite proud of it.

For a while after that, even report-writing didn’t seem so dull, since he had the memory of the conversation with Hermione. But sadly – as anyone who’s worked in an office before will know – paperwork is just not a particularly scintillating occupation. Soon enough, Draco had read the same line in a subordinate’s report four times and he still didn’t know what it said. The hand holding his quill was absent-mindedly doodling in the margins.

Sighing, he was about to pull the latest edition of Witch Weekly out of his desk drawer – he’d been voted one of the runners-up in the Most Charming Smile contest, and wanted to read the article – when he glanced down at his notes. The edges of the parchment were covered in miniature images of Hermione; Hermione in a dress, Hermione in her office clothes, Hermione dressed as Catwoman…

Grinning, Draco pulled out a spare sheet, grabbed his crayons and set to work.

*~*~*~*

He wasn’t entirely sure how much time passed before there was a shout from the corridor outside his office.

“Oi, Malfoy, have you got those files Harry asked for?”

Dammit. Potter and he had got past most of their schoolboy antagonism and developed what was (most of the time) a working relationship. But that didn’t mean they liked each other – and Draco just didn’t see how it was fair making Potter Chief Wizard Cop. Just because he was the Chosen One… But that didn’t mean he had to get on with Potter’s fanclub – particularly his moronic Weasley girlfriend.

Hearing angry footsteps approaching his door, Draco quickly grabbed all his files and pirouetted around the desk to leave his office.

“Coming, coming, Weasley.” Cue the patented Malfoy sneer.

And so it was that he was following Ginny down the corridor of Really Important Offices, counting down the doors until he found the one marked “ ~~Herman~~ ~~Herman-Monster~~ ~~Boo Radley~~ Hermione Granger”. Ignoring Ginny’s frustrated sigh (just because she slept her way into being Potter’s secretary didn’t mean she deserved his respect), he darted into the empty room, smiling affectionately at the crazy-cat-tiger-monster thing Hermione called Crookshanks where he was tied to the shutters. The hinges were looking pretty loose now, and the ugly beige wallpaper next to him was quite frankly only improved by the claw marks. Quickly Draco rifled through the pile of manila folders in his arms before dumping the offensively green one containing Hermione’s case notes and newly finished picture on her desk.

It was only after handing over the rest of his files to Potter, arguing over Quidditch with Weasley and settling back at his own desk with a fresh cup of sickeningly sweet coffee that Draco noticed the absence of his second drawing of the day.

The one of Hermione that he’d been adding the finishing touches to when that bloody Weasley came along to nag him. Then he’d quickly just picked up everything in front of him and shoved the drawing into-

Oh.

Oops.

Suddenly Draco leaped up, spilling his coffee over the floor and his brand new shoes, but that didn’t matter right now. What did matter was getting back to Granger’s office _before_ she found his second drawing.

It was with a hop, skip and an arabesque (as well as the occasional pas-de-chat) that Draco found himself bursting into Hermione’s office again, his hair only minutely displaced out of its perfectly coiffed state by his slightly excessive speed.

Unfortunately, Hermione was apparently back from whatever Extremely Secret Meeting she’d been at, and was just opening up the file he’d left for her.

“No!” he cried, leaping dramatically across the room (and yes, some small part of his mind was wishing he had minions to help him make even more of an impression. Daddy had been right about some things, after all). “Don’t open it!”

Hermione’s head snapped up in surprise, the papers fluttering from the open file to the desktop. Her eyebrows lowered into a frown.

“Draco, look what you made me do,” she complained, and before he could stop her again, she was picking up the parchment sheets again.

“But-” he tried, but in vain.

Sadly though, it was too late. Having put aside her own notes, Hermione had nodded at Draco’s picture of the kidnapper (smiling slightly at the additions) then put that too aside. Her eyes widened as she took in the one image still in her hands, and her knuckles turned white as she gripped the paper.

The whole room froze in a strange tableau: Hermione staring at a picture; Draco in a rather shaky fifth-position; even Crookshanks was momentarily still as he noticed a mousehole in the skirting board.

“Draco,” Hermione broke the silence, voice shaking slightly, “What is this?”

“Er, it’s nothing, just-”

“This, this is me, isn’t it? Saying ‘Oh, Draco, you’re not alone’?”

He swallowed. “If you just give it to me, I’ll-”

“And this must be you. Saying ‘’Cause I’m here with you’?”

Why did people suddenly produce excess saliva at stressful moments? Draco swallowed again. There wasn’t much he could do other than nod and look vaguely panicked.

“Why … why did you draw this, Draco?”

Now she was staring at him as well, her eyes wide and confused. Quashing the need to actually burst into song ( _Come on, Draco, no one does that in the real world_ ), for some reason, Draco was unable to stop the sudden outpouring of cliché and sap.

“It was at the Yule Ball – I mean, it was just a little make-up, I told myself to wake up and let it go, but you were – you _are_ – the hottest girl I’ve ever seen, and I didn’t know how I could ever have been so mean to you, but I couldn’t say anything because you were all over that Weasley.” His lip curled in distaste, but he carried on. “Of course, imagine my joy when you finally split up, and Weasley ran off to Canada for a year with Cho Chang. But then you just _had_ to take the case in Switzerland, and I was left here, still falling in love with you. I wanted to let you know, but I didn’t know how to – and I wasn’t entirely sure I could get the words out without throwing up over your shoes at any rate. And of course, you never tell a girl you like her, it makes you look like an idiot.”

Hermione’s jaw had dropped.

“You – but – I mean – _me?_ ”

Draco growled at the ceiling. “ _Yes!_ ”

Granger stood up, but Draco edged back. She didn’t have her wand in her hand, but he’d heard that when she’d been on one of her cases that took her to England, she’d actually punched a bloke for insulting her. Who was to say she wasn’t about to take a swing at him?

But no, she just sort of hovered (not literally, of course) a few feet away from him.

“Draco,” she started, looking anywhere but at his face, “You know in your picture, the things we’re saying – don’t you think they sound rather like they should be in some soppy love song?”

Draco blushed.

Hermione grinned, actually making eye contact.

“Well,” she added, her smile turning secretive as she inched closer to him, “If that’s the case, I think I feel a bit of harmonising coming on.”

And suddenly she was right up close, and music was floating out of the walls, echoing around them – or was that just in Draco’s head? – and Hermione was leaning closer to him, grabbing his shirt and pulling it all out of place.

Somehow, Draco couldn’t bring himself to care.

Just as what sounded like an introduction to a strangely familiar song started up, Draco was standing on tiptoe to make himself level with Hermione and she was leaning down towards him.

“Oh, and don’t worry,” she added, just before the music – _where the_ hell _had it come from?_ -  reached a swell and their lips connected, “I take three breath mints after every meal now.”

It was possibly the most romantic thing Draco had ever heard.


End file.
